


the simplest us

by literarygirl



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Deeprealms, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Revelations Spoilers, how the heck are these two not everyone's favorite characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarygirl/pseuds/literarygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words do not fall so easily from his tongue (he opens his mouth, closes it, lips set into more a grimace than anything else) but when they do, it is simple, a small statement with intent to help clear the air:</p><p>“Your hands are bleeding.”</p><p>(charlotte and benny; the end of one world order and the beginning of another.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. un.

In the aftermath of her rampage, there is a man frozen in place, seed falling from his hands while blood falls from hers. The birds have long since scattered, feathers where their shadows were, scared away when the earth shook and rotting wood took their place.  
  
Her heavy breathing fills up the space afterwards; he is silent, staring as though he’s seen a ghost, not another stranger in the woods.  
  
Curls fall haphazardly across her shoulders and she has not been this unfurled in such a long, _long_ time; she was supposed to be secluded, alone with her thoughts and splintered wood to add to the dead earth. The silence is almost unbearable, and so she fills it, demands to know the point of his stare, as though one look claims to know the weight on her shoulders, the weight that’s doubled, now that she’s relocated and secluded and dishonorably discharged for being too good at her own game. Weeks’ worth of travel away if something were to happen, the very idea causing her shoulders to rise and her demands grow louder as she takes a bold step forward.  
  
Silence. Nothing but silence as he steps forward, and her fists rise instinctively, bloody knuckles and splinters and all, as though she means to parry the hand that extends towards her—  
  
—and catches them, _carefully_. Only enough to bring them down, but it’s a gentle touch and her eyebrows knot in confusion, for he does not look the type at all. Words do not fall so easily from his tongue (he opens his mouth, closes it, lips set into more a grimace than anything else) but when they do, it is simple, a small statement with intent to help clear the air:  
  
“Your hands are bleeding.”  
  
She is brusque in leaving without another look back, scattered words more a growl at the back of her throat, but there is something distinct in his statement that settles and lingers, although he is hardly the most pressing matter.  
  
The newest recruits—a laughable statement, the very phrase bitter on her tongue as she utters it under her breath—find themselves with the distinct pleasure of taking over the duties of soldiers far older than she is. They make the mistake of assuming her shoulders are far less tired, but she is in no position to protest.  
  
Dead earth and sleepy village rest below her. In the distance, mountains cut through thick gray clouds. The air tastes like distant snow and bitter cold.  
  
The lone door to the watch tower creaks open. There is hesitation, and the same man steps in, wringing his hands, watching her with an expression that’s hard to place in the dim light.  
  
This time, he speaks first: asks about her hands, speaking carefully, voice a low rumble. Asks for a name, asks if she is all right. All in fragments, but thick with concern. A groan escapes from her lips as she cradles her chin. The answer is no, but it’s longer than that, and they’d be here all night.  
  
_Well_ , she supposes, _they have it._  
  
One more groan, all deep resignation that settles into her posture.  
  
She starts at his questions with the simplest one.  
  
(“Charlotte.”)


	2. deux.

They fall into step together on accident.

Benoit is twice her size and from the perpetual scowl and scarred skin most would assume to find a warrior, a looming shadow seconds before their downfall. She only knows Benny, whose smile is rare but gentle and whom would never lift a weapon to flesh of his own accord. A gentle soul of circumstance, more at home in the stables and sparse woods behind their post than on the battlefield.

Night after night of still air, and he is her audience, the recipient to every thought that comes to mind. On better nights, she shares secrets plucked from noble lips and fruitful conquests. Worse nights see her tongue loose with complaints.

It matters not that he does not respond often, for she knows between nimble fingers whittling wood or working through cloth to adorn he hears every word.

(And he does not repeat her words, keeps them close to his breast. Not that he is the type to ever spill another’s secrets—or blood, for that matter. Not in his nature at all, but she is in no position to judge the _why_. His heart seeks to shield, and so she lets it slide.)

There are words spoken about _him_ , however, wild yarns with very few grains of truth buried in them. She passes every single one by him, curious to pluck man from myth, and they all fall false.

After months of stale air and restlessness, a skirmish breaks out; there are still mountains and chasms between two warring nations but sellswords and rebel hearts alike still gather while eyes are turned to larger battlefields. She is almost the first one out the door, hungry for _anything_ to break the monotony but still cursing the line of all the fools who dared _try_ to cause a scene in the middle of the night.

A hand at her shoulder, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. A moment later, and fingers are so gingerly working to– to attach _something_. They are gone and her own replaces them, feeling smooth cuts of gem and metal, still warm from his palms. The brooch is nestled at the center of the bow tying her hair back, so secure not even the tempest she is—axe in hand and smile turned snarl—can dislodge it.

“For luck.” And that is all the explanation he affords, but when she tips her head to look back at Benny, there is the ghost of a smile.

Far from the superstitious type, she scoffs, and grips the strapping of her axe tighter.

(Its presence still becomes routine, . Every battle has her nails tapping against it for luck to ensure it will always be in place—and without fail, it endures.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turn around the white ribbon and there's a little blue gem.  
> a little more liberal with headcanons, this time, however small they are.
> 
> this is a linear drabble series, by the by, but more than that, it's an experiment to get more comfortable with fic-writing post-graduation.  
> and to generate content for them. seriously, they're my fave Fates characters by far.


	3. troix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring silas, effie, and elise in passing. and arthur, although sadly his presence is only implied.  
> this chapter is more in service of the flow of the story than moving the dynamic study forward. in the original draft, this chapter didn't even exist, but when I was reworking it I decided I didn't like the amount of time skipped between two and three.

It all goes downhill rather quickly.

The facts, sparse as they are, are these: there was a skirmish that escalated, crown against crown, and in the chaos, sword turned against brothers and now one of their own nobles has gone and turned traitor. Some say there’s a Hoshidan princess at the helm; others say it is a clever ruse, meant to draw the standing Nohrian army further away from their capital.

Their eyes are still scanning the horizon for insurgence when new orders come, Chevois banners flying as they speak of rebellion more frequently, becoming bold as their enemy forces become spread thin.

Their new commander comes from the capitol, armor fresh and face young. She smiles at him and he asks for her strength, oblivious to her—looking past her, even, to the weary guards and seeing… _something_.

A bunch of tired foot soldiers, most likely.

Charlotte decides she doesn’t like this new commander shortly after his arrival, youthful face and immaculate armor and title only given _once_ , a name thick on his lips she only vaguely remembers.

She says as such, the night before they leave, leather between her teeth, refastening the strap of her axe that hangs at her wrist, Benny with pauldrons and polish at his knee. He is at least a touch fairer.

Blood simmers just beneath the smile taut on her lips, and all but boils once Port Dia erupts as the traitorous Corrin is uncovered. There are forces larger than expected; orders yelled at her to secure the ships, lest anyone try to leave again.

(Charlotte very quickly decides she would despise travel by sea, too.)

Waves underneath creaky boards and her aching feet have her itching to leave; she thinks of a letter unsent, still half-written and envelope empty at her back pocket, at rebels with flowering blooming against steel, and swings her axe with reckless abandon at the lady knight and cohorts who board the ship in big, lumbering steps.

It sings through the air to parry her lance; it misses the mark but strikes something _better_.

…It _almost_ takes a chunk out of the steed of a princess as she makes a reckless approach to the enemy forces. Upon reflection, she’s livid at herself for not catching a name before simply swinging at her first and asking questions later.

But despite missteps, she is welcome with open arms.

And welcome to a better pay, if only she turns tail and follows the Lady Elise. Charlotte’s mind is made up in an _instant_.

Fortune favors the bold, after all.

(The facts, as sparse as they were, do not even scratch the surface of the truth. But there is a gentle hand upon her shoulder that evening, and although she chides Benny on wasting energy for her act, moments later there’s an exhausted grin to match his own.

 _“We’re in the big leagues now, Benny! Hehe… I’m got a feeling this is exactly the chance we’ve been waiting on!”_ So assured, spoken victoriously in a hushed hiss, all but threatening to grow louder with every word, unable to contain her excitement.

 _“Whatever you say, Charlotte.”_ A reply following a meek nod, arms crossed but still smiling, despite fatigue.)


	4. quatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a warning for this chapter: it goes into a little detail about that particular part of revelations where corrin decides jumping into the bottomless canyon is the best way to go about getting the army to follow them. if that part bothered you, I would strongly advise skipping this chapter and returning for the next one.  
> god damn it, revelations, making me reconcile your wonky plot.

They stand at the chasm to the endless abyss, given a plea to follow into the unknown. Charlotte’s grown up hearing stories that seemed so distant, unreasonable until it is at her feet; nothing from the bottomless canyon ever returns, it’s called _bottomless_ for a reason, and she cannot afford to let herself be swept up in this for the whimsy of nobles and a tepid truce. No sum is worth that.

(It is hardly a change in pay, anyway, from standing guard to standing army, and her legs ache. Her good fortune—if good fortune can be considered almost bringing blade to the neck of a princess bold enough to try and befriend enemy soldiers before revealing her standing is anything approaching lucky—is beginning to seem more and more like a curse in disguise.)

Her words, a hiss as they stand shoulder-to-shoulder: “I don’t trust this at _all_.”

“…Neither do I.” For as much as he struggles to convey his emotions at times, trepidation and fear are out in equal measure across Benny’s face.

True fortune had to be discovering he had the same change of heart; impulsive treason stings less when together. Her misery has never wanted company, but it is acceptable if it is him. When they met again, there had been shock, first, but then a smile with no prying eyes or false pretenses and a gentle punch to the arm.

Neither say anything for a long, long time, fool’s errand sprawled before them.

“But, at the same time…”

As always, she breaks the silence, but trails off shortly after. There is a soft grunt under his breath as though he knows.

This is having a death wish, but there has a good reason so many soldiers have already followed Corrin to the abyss– crown princes included.

It sweetens the deal, of course, but there is still a grimace on her lips.

Benny finally clears his throat and steps forward, on shaky legs, and offers her an arm as a gentleman might.

Despite herself, a wry smile begins to bloom. He is far from a true gentleman, but the gesture is steeped in the gentleness that he exudes, the true kind she seeks to imitate.

They fall together, arm in arm, her final steps giving into anticipation and dragging him along over the edge.

Fall and fall, and the last thing she sees, past flying curls of hair streaming behind her, is him.

(Benny makes a good friend but a poor landing. Their combined armor breaks the fall–somehow– but shakes them to their core, still bruises their skin and rattles their bones. They survive, somehow, as they always have, with sunlight in their eyes in a land of legend.)


	5. cinq.

They fall into a routine—fell into it years ago, but it only seems apparent when they fall back into old habits as the world shifts.

The ground is splintered and suspended above their heads, when they trek. Some sense of normalcy is needed.

Rise, well before she _wants_ to, as mornings are a pain no matter where they are. He likes the sunrise, the calm colors it paints over an otherwise chaotic troupe. He is a watchful eye as she puts on her face, pulls hair back and smiles sweetly, even if her teeth are grit behind her lips.

“It’s better this way,” she’s always said. Charlotte knows he never misses the envious eye that sometimes falls his way, when she believes he isn’t looking. Imposing, full of intrigue and the blood of false thousands on his hands, but utterly himself. Simple, were she to describe him.

(She offered her story in bits, on nights when she wasn’t pacing the watchtower, more caged animal than woman simmering over her own missteps. A soldier disgraced, doubling her efforts, almost desperate if she stayed stagnant too long. Her expression grew dark, every time she let snippets escape into the quiet night, words sinking in between them.

She smiled—still smiles when she speaks of her family, eyes alight with fondness completely and utterly genuine. He smiled with her. Never offered his story in return, beyond a village and a forest, and companions found within it, none of them human.

But she can respect that silence, knows everyone keeps parts of them to themselves. She has plenty of memories for the both of them.)

They are both of the mind to train alone, outside of mandatory drills with other soldiers, but they fall into step preparing together, just as easily. It is more out of habit than a want to, but sometimes fingers itch to hold something other than splintering wood or a cloth and thread.

And they reconvene, eventually, if only to unwind. Hardly the most exciting, but there is enough excitement elsewhere.

“Darling!”

So she calls him, endearment falling from her lips without a second thought one such afternoon. Her hands wrap around an arm and pull him away from prying eyes.

“ _Darling?”_

So he echoes back, face wrought with confusion for seconds before he understands, and answers in kind.

No one is around, and so the honey drains from her voice as quick as she’d come, rolling her shoulders. It isn’t quite disgust in her expression, but a lingering distaste for the fools so quick to fall to her.

She is slumped over her knees, chin in her hands as she speaks, far from the attractive dream she seeks to be when anyone else falls within her vision.

He smiles at her anyway. In spite of her crude demeanor, in spite of how often he ends up playing along. He is far from an actor, but he speaks carefully when she needs it.

 “I’m glad I can count on you to keep me anchored, you know. I’d probably go _mad_ if you weren’t here.”

Benny’s chuckle is low, but no less sincere.

“Is that so…”

“I mean it! You’re…” It is hard to word exactly what he _is_ , so she settles for metaphors. “You’re like… a big, soothing rock.

“It’s a good thing.” And she’s absolutely sure of that.

When she parts, he wishes she do nothing but take care of herself, almost missing his chance to catch her hand and attention by his own hesitation. Her smile is genuine, then, a wink chasing it before she’s off to play nice again.

(He’d asked, once, why she never felt the need to act when they were alone; the question falls again later, as dusk settles. Charlotte speaks matter-of-factly: he has never been the type to judge, a rare kind heart in the world. He is simple, but steadfast. _Darling_ may not be the proper word, but he is dear to her in ways she has never really paused to thank him for.

It is hard to repay for years of companionship, but she can try.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter that wasn't in the first draft, but honestly I felt like reconciling their C and B supports a bit more naturally was needed for the overall flow.  
> I try my best not to quote word-for-word the exact lines from their supports, because for some reason it always takes me out of fics when they do that. this time I even got to sneak in a line from their original translated support. fun stuff.


	6. six.

They are the only soldiers awake in the last moments before slumber. They huddle close in the graveyard of a civilization decimated, castle once lively now with a mad god residing in its heart—but it matters very, very little in the moment.

She is exhausted to her core, cheek against his shoulder. Two souls in the mess hall with one candle between them, her letter half-penned and forgotten, his hand working to thread a needle. Innumerable nights have unfolded like this, only this time without the burden of a kingdom on their eyes—even if another rests just beyond their vision.

Charlotte laments and lets her words echo– who will hear, but him?

“I’m a little tired,” moaned with her shoulders slumped lower than they’ve been in a while. He does not search for an answer, knows it will come soon enough.

Her act is getting weary, has been for years. He does not bat an eye, and she does not move.

“Everything could be _so_ _much simpler_ ,” not an unfair conclusion, when she finally reaches it. When he suggests a break, the answer on her lips is unchanged.

“But acting like this– it makes things easier! I’m too used to it now; can’t let all my hard work go to waste now, right?”

Being herself is always so nice on the tongue but in practice, impossible to conceive. And she echoes that to Benny. His words are encouraging, still. Sparse, but kind. Never a need to put on airs, and her shoulders, while slumped, feel the tiniest bit lighter all the same when her burdens are shared.

In the dark, the simplest them unfolds.

As the last embers die between them, she asks a favor: “You’ll always make time for me, right? When I get worn down?”

“Of course, Charlotte. Always, for you.” Years of close quarters and she can pick out his expression, even in the dark, can make out the curl of his lips, a hesitant smile.

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that.” And she means it, eyes half-lidded and cheek still against his shoulder.

( _Even if nobody else is aware of your contributions to this army… I notice_. One good eye casting judgment for every step she takes, but despite the surge of pride she feels, tepid compliment or not, she bites back the urge to say _you’re wrong_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one and the very first chapter are probably the ones I like the most.  
> one more chapter until the end! thanks for sticking with me this week.  
> also starring saizo for two seconds, at the very end.  
> why are end notes so complicated to edit.


	7. sept.

The grin on her face does not fade in the aftermath of final reports. Head held high, she takes large strides to reach his side, practically singing her news, grabbing at his arm to hold his full attention– which he always gives undivided, but she needs her own reassurance that she has him on her every word, for it lets her speak in no uncertain terms about the offer she’s received.

Quite an impressive war record, for someone so intent on keeping face; no mercy spared to enemies, and no reason to hold back when someone is always watching hers—and when the soldiers in question have no will, flit in and out of her vision and do not even bat an eye at her lovely face.

(And if _charm_ will not work on dead soldiers, there’s no need to temper her strength when her neck is on the line.)

It was almost accidental, how she’d caught the eyes of important people in the exact way she’d worked tirelessly to avoid; to find the shattered mask appealing at _all_ over the smile is something she still does not quite grasp, but she will swallow that doubt for an offer she would never refuse, feeling giddy all the while. There will be a time to be cynical later—if she does not take it now, she may never get a second chance.

Slowly, all her hard work– the years spent away, the risks she’s taken and the scars marrying her skin just below the hem of her dress, the curve of her armor– is paying off handsomely. Loose ends tie themselves, no longer frayed, none left hanging, except for _one_.

That one is significantly harder to reconcile.

The first time she’d made a decision as bold as this, she had not been thinking of much of anything—of anyone except her and her own—at all. This time is different; _yes_ falls from her lips, eager but moments later, another springs to mind. A stipulation, were she ready to voice it yet to the crown.

He is happy for her, truly. And she basks in praise for a few moments, letting the joy simmer down until she picks up the comfortable silence with a statement.

“I bet they’d extend the same offer to you, too. It wouldn’t be unreasonable—you’ve made a few friends around here, right? And I’d vouch for you!”

Humbly, Benny considers her words, although Charlotte can tell from his expression that unease is settling, the type that comes with a gentle pass. False legends chase him, but he does not want the mantle of ruthless warrior, wants peace instead.

She can understand, but grimaces nonetheless, wants to cut him off before he answers. Before he makes her words any harder to push out than they already are.

A hard stare between them, and the silence falls again, before he chooses to speak. Clearing his throat, still watching her:

“…Something on your mind?”

This dawn is different, peace on the horizon but still many struggles left to overcome, and it seems unwise to step in alone, without her best foot forward and someone at her back to navigate this bold new world with.

And she says as such, and goes further, casts tiresome act aside to speak in plain truths.

“I have… a new goal in mind, you see.”

It is the only way she can think to start it out. Now that such fortune has truly been offered to her, through no bashful smiles but sweat and grit and a wild look in her eyes as she clears a path to victory, it seems pointless to chase riches with false words.

So now, her efforts shift elsewhere.

He is keener than he will ever give himself credit for, but in the moment Benny seems unsure.

“…And that is?”

A sharp intake of breath– from both parties. It is as though he’s slowly catching on but doesn’t want to put words in her mouth while she steels herself, smile thinning but never once wavering.

“…I’m gonna pursue a different kind of man. Someone that already knows what I’m like.”

And he is one of those men. The _only_ one that’s seen her but never flinched; the only one to look past the tempest and not demand her strength or an explanation, but offer a timid hand instead.

(As he does again, even in disbelief; and so she takes it, to stand on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (their original s-support is totally different than this one. if anyone has any insight into why, I'd love to hear it. personally, I think both of them are super sweet.)
> 
> well, here it is, folks. been written and re-written and I'm still not quite satisfied. but as a whole? this has been a huge learning experience. thank you to everyone who stuck around for this!
> 
> considering doing a companion fic to this one from Benny's point of view, but honestly it will take some time, considering just how little information we get about him from his supports. if anyone can point me towards... anything, really, I'd be eternally grateful.
> 
> I do have a fire emblem twitter (@giftofganglari) so feel free to come find me!

**Author's Note:**

> these are based off their localized supports because translated material and subsequent discussion on them is so sparse. there are a few differences between their supports from the translated versions I read, but I overall felt more comfortable working with a text I have full access to. it'd be interesting to hear what people thought of their supports pre-localization, though. didn't see many people talk about them at all.  
> 


End file.
